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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000533">dim light</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills'>spills</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also Atsumu is Best Boy, Atsumu is Fool, Komori is Cute, M/M, Post-Timeskip, Sakusa is Suffering, intercural sex, national team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:14:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/spills</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Which causes Komori to burst into a peal of angelic giggles. Which causes the swamp monster to flip the angel off. Atsumu really should get Komori’s number.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Komori Motoya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dim light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/diphylleias/gifts">diphylleias</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>bel. bel how dare u give me brain worms this is for u</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“That’s a real funny joke Omi-kun,” Atsumu finds himself laughing, clutching at his sides as Sakusa gives him a glare, looking absolutely murderous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Atsumu’s fault that his teammate is so easy to make fun of. Teasing Sakusa is a game of high risk and high reward - yes, the taller of the two would not hesitate to murder the setter; unfortunately for him though, Sakusa Kiyoomi too, is bound to the laws of Japan, and homicide is illegal. Being flipped off by Sakusa is an easy victory, since everything pisses the other man off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once upon a time, Atsumu would have given anything to have been able to punch the wing spiker in the face (after tearing his stupid clinical mask off his stupid face first of course), but since Sakusa had joined up the MSBY Jackals, Atsumu supposes that they’ll always be stuck in this weird, tentative friendship that consists of acerbic remarks. One jackass to another jackass, requesting each other to fuck off. An easy friendship built upon who gets the first service ace of the game and treating the other with too much kindness being unnecessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Till today though, Atsumu wasn’t even aware that Sakusa was even capable of making a joke. Sakusa who, aside from looking murderous, is also looking a bit miffed. “Why the fuck would I lie about Komori being my cousin,” his voice flat with indignation, “I am literally telling you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not fuck my cousin</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe because you want him all to yourself,” Atsumu grins conspiratorially , successfully baiting Sakusa into taking a swipe at him. Omi-kun misses, disgusting wrists flopping sharply in empty air as Atsumu dodges expertly, thinking out loud, “I know you two were joined at high school, but cousins? Really? Motoya-kun is cherubic looking,” Sakusa scoffs at that, an undignified snort unbefitting of his usual disdain. Atsumu finishes his thought, “and no offense Omi-kun,” which Atsumu means by </span>
  <em>
    <span>full offense</span>
  </em>
  <span>, offering a bright grin, ‘Yer swamp monster loch ness lookin’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa blinks at him, once, twice, before speaking in the Sakusa Kiyoomi volume of Loud - demanding the attention of one half of Japan’s liberos, who was giggling at something their other libero had said. Probably Yaku talking shit about someone again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Motoya.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori’s head perks up upon hearing his name, turning in their direction. Atsumu wasn’t aware of Sakusa being on a first name basis with anyone. The low whistle Atsumu gives earns another side eye of ire from the wing spiker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it Sakusa?” Komori hollers back from the other side of the court, mouth pulled into a grin, boyish and playful. Atsumu wonders how did he manage to completely miss how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> the man was to be around. Sakusa’s fault most likely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidence being the All-Japan Youth Camp. Sakusa, the black hole, sucking in all light from the libero at the side. Komori, a street lamp, not necessarily bright, just necessary, illuminating Sakusa’s presence, making him appear darker, more mysterious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori Motoya, akin to a firefly on the court surrounded by light pollution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a libero, Komori was tall. For a libero, his sets were decent. For a libero, his presence was barely noticeable, but ever present. Unlike Yaku who threatened spikers while he was on the prowl, Komori would simply have both arms out, either for an overhead or a dig. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Playing Itachiyama always left Atsumu’s pride a little sore, rarely able to score a service ace. At the time, he had blamed the mere existence of Sakusa Kiyoomi, each time he scored after the ball had been received. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Years later, Atsumu supposes that he had been blaming the wrong player all along, because playing against the Raijins was always a close call. Strong offense versus a strong defense, The entirety of the back row is the domain of Komori Motoya, who doesn’t even have the courtesy to remind you he’s there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about his subtle yet filthy plays brings a grin to Atsumu’s face. He’s usually eyeing other setters and their spikers, but Komori isn’t either of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the back, receiving everything the opposition offers with both arms. Joy in the bounce of his movement with no step wasted, a mad glimmer in his eyes, receiving every ball like a gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For fuck’s sake, Atsumu has seen the videos Sunarin posts occasionally, where he simply launches himself at Komori with no warning, and Komori? Komori is probably capable of receiving anything and everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re cousins,” Sakusa makes the statement flatly, leaving no room for argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or there would have been no room for argument, if it weren’t for Komori’s slow blink, his wide eyed look of innocence as he tilts his head to the side. “Are you sure, Kiyoomi?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa closes his eyes, and Atsumu thinks he can see a blood vessel about to burst on the other man’s forehead, while Yaku has a shit-eating grin on his face. A count to ten, and then Sakusa turns his dead goldfish gaze to meet Atsumu evenly, tone icy when he says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind, Miya. You two are perfect fit for each other. You’re both annoying as fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which causes Komori to burst into a peal of angelic giggles. Which causes the swamp monster to flip the angel off. Atsumu really should get Komori’s number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What happens is this instead: Sakusa leaves the scene in a huff, and Komori waves Yaku goodbye before jogging over to where Atsumu is. His brown looks so soft, even if he should be sweaty and gross. The space between his eyebrows would be perfect for a forehead kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, he’s cocking his head to the side - no more feigned innocence, just genuine curiosity. “Soooo, Miya,” Komori drags his “o”s and punctuates with Atsumu’s surname, “Wanna tell me what kind of conversation you and Sakusa were having?” he gives a winning beam, “Seemed pretty interesting, I want in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Shouyou who has grins and smiles that blinds, the shape of Komori’s mouth has mastered the art of disarming. “I was just telling Omi-kun about how hot ya were,” Atsumu says before his brain can proof check his sentences before they leave his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain. Absolutely useless off court. When faced with men that have smiles that reach their eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori has eyes that crinkle at the edge, probably because he’s always smiling, despite his slightly crooked teeth, his mouth appearing to have sharper canines than most. The slight imperfections only add to his charm, because Komori has made himself comfortable in his own body. That’s attractive, only Komori’s face ends up with a confused smile now, and he has a finger pointed at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m hot?” it’s a question that is. Simply a question. Atsumu thinks he might need to leave the gym for a bit to yell. Because yes Komori Motoya. You are hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Atsumu gives a slow nod, lets Komori track his body language as he uncrosses his arms from his chest, “Yer hot,” and there’s a bit of pink showing on Komori’s cheeks now, eyes that widen in surprise, and his mouth dropping into a little “o.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miya!” Komori exclaims with a laugh, giving Atsumu a little punch on the shoulder, “I didn’t expect you to be so direct.” The comment causes Atsumu to fluster a little as Komori pauses for thought, his mouth pursed into a small pout before stating, “Then again, I like how direct you are. It’s hot.” His pout shifts into a small smile, “Though I’m glad I’m a libero. If you chewed me out, I think I might cry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An offended huff escapes from Atsumu’s mouth, “I wouldn’t make ya cry, Motoya-kun,” causing Komori to raise a brow, so Atsumu corrects himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t make ya cry, unless ya wanted me to.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori takes one step forward into Atsumu’s personal space, small smile shifting into something sharper, poking a finger centre of the setter’s chest. The libero is only 4cm shorter than Atsumu, but his presence is towering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” there’s a threat in Komori’s lowered pitch of voice, a taunt, “How would you make me cry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mistaken, it’s less threat and more challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu licks his bottom lip, rising up to it, by leaning in closer to meet Komori halfway. He makes his offer, “Why don’t you find out in my room tonight?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops each word like a pebble slipping into a pond, a drizzle hitting on the water’s surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pointed finger becomes a palm flat on Atsumu’s chest. “I’ll be dropping by your room after my shower then,” he takes a step back, his smile returning to something sweet, unassuming. “Don’t lock me out later, okay?” and gives Atsumu a little wave before skipping off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu watches the other man go, before running a hand through his hair. Mumbles to himself, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” and starts to suspect Sakusa telling him to not fool around with his cousin for his own sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This little venture wasn’t supposed to go so well.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Again, instead of getting Komori’s number, what Atsumu got was Komori Motoya, the full person. He really should have asked for Komori’s number, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>after my shower</span>
  </em>
  <span> could have meant any time from between 8pm to 10pm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu finishes his own shower when the clock reads 8:19pm, hair towel dried and a t-shirt pulled over his head. He’s considering whether or not to wear pants, when he’s always had the habit of sleeping in his boxers. But opening the door in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers might make him seem too eager, so he resolves to tug on a pair of sweatpants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His clothing dilemma takes him about half an hour to resolve, and the clock mocks him with its numbers reading 8:41pm in neon red. Atsumu is starting to wonder if Komori has stood him up, gaze lingering on his phone on the bedside table, fingers itching to send Sakusa a </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>suspicious message of ‘haha so have u seen komori in the last hour?’ He’s sure if he sent Sakusa that, the other man would simply appear on his doorstep to gut him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock on his door now, in fact. Oh god. Maybe Sakusa can hear thoughts through walls. That could be him outside, right now, with a knife to gut Atsumu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu isn’t entirely sure if he deserves it, but gets up anyway on the off-chance that it’s Komori instead. The thought of it being Komori makes getting up worth it, opening the door a little less terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His faith is rewarded when he’s greeted by the sight of Komori with damp hair, a towel around his neck, dressed in a worn-out shirt with a loose collar. His thighs are in full view thanks to the shorts that Komori is wearing, his eyes dragging along skin till Komori snaps his fingers, asking for his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eyes up here Miya,” he grins, the twinkle in his eye more amused than offended, “Are you going to let me in, or am I just supposed to be eye candy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu widens the entrance to his room, gives a little bow, tampering down his nerves, because if Komori doesn’t seem to be offended, then Atsumu isn’t going to be the one to ruin his night. “Sorry ‘bout that,” comes insincere apology, “Like I said, yer hot. Ya had me caught off guard, so really that’s yer fault.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, do you only like me for my thighs, Miya?” Komori asks as he hooks a finger along the hem of the garment, pulling the fabric up to show more skin, “That’s funny, because you have a nice pair too.” The libero tilts his head to the side, smile lopsided, “Real volleyball olympian thighs, you must be real proud of yourself to score someone cute on your first try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like yer the one who likes me only for my thighs, Motoya-kun,” Atsumju mutters under his breath as he shuts the door behind him. It doesn’t go unheard, and again, Komori is giggling - implicit affection offered easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Banter is easy, affection is easy, none of it being forced and Atsumu can feel his heart sinking deeper into the depths of his ribcage. Komori makes companionship something easy, as how Atsumu makes his tosses easy to hit. Effort is needed to make something so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to fit into place, and honestly, that’s kind of terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s determined to not ruin his night by overthinking though, so instead he walks over to Komori, and places a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Loosely, so the other man can easily back away if this is no good. Komori stays though, eyes trained on him, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two things that need to be said then: one demand and one question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his free hand, he raises a finger. “We aren’t in public now, so call me Atsumu. Don’t call me Miya, I don’t need to be wondering if you’re calling for me or my brother,” and that makes Komori snicker. Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Shut up, Motoya-kun. Whatever. Stop being so difficult. Can I kiss ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Atsumu,” Komori has ceased his laughter, finding a dip in Atsumu’s waist to rest his palm, “Why don’t you shut me up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Atsumu swoops in for the kiss, a little bit too hungry, but that doesn’t matter, because Komori reciprocates by biting on his bottom lip, hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice, because Atsumu doesn’t find his brain wandering at all. Not worried about scaring the other man off, who only meets his enthusiasm in equal fervour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so easy, and Komori is the one who ends up pushing Atsumu onto the bed first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being wanted like this? So directly? Feels so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Nngh- fuck,” his weight being pressed into the mattress by Komori’s weight, “Motoya-kun…” the other mans name leaves his mouth as a moan, a sigh, something soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mn?’ Komori has his hands pinning down Atsumu’s wrist, his thighs wrapped around Atsumu’s cock, his legs crossed to have his length held in a vice-grip. It’s tight, and warm, and with the previous careful care Komori had taken when lubing his length, the friction comes easy, maybe a little too easy, and it isn’t Atsumu’s fault when he tries to buck his hips, wanting more, to have more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori’s a little shit though, and simply uses the strength in his legs to push Atsumu back down, clicking his tongue. “Ah, ah,” comes the playful admonishment, “Bad boy,” Komori says as he somehow squeezes Atsumu’s shaft with even more pressure between his flesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So good. Atsumu wants more, he really wants more and can’t help the whine that escapes him even if Komori had just chided him like a puppy to be  house-trained. He didn’t know that the other man could be so cruel, denying him like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut, and feels a thumb brushing at the corner of his eye, a little bit wet. “Hm?” feigned curiosity in Komori’s voice, “Atsumu, thought you were supposed to be the one making me cry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should be feeling humiliated, really, to have the heat rising up to his ears being something out of shame. Instead, he’s so incredibly turned on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I knew ya would be so good at taking care of me,” Atsumu attempts to spin the story around, “I would have offered ya myself first.” In bed, Atsumu wasn’t really fussed about positions, what mattered was feeling good, and again, his brain must be turning to mush because of how good Komori is making him feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tender hands, firm grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori Motoya really does receive everything and everyone with a sort of care that isn’t simply learned, but fostered within oneself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, to be a volleyball being dug by Komori Motoya, #19 of Japan’s National Team. Oh, to be Miya Atsumu being embraced by Motoya-kun, that’s more trickster spirit than sweet angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so much fun. Who let him be so much fun? Is it because he’s been around the dour swamp monster Sakusa so much that he managed to perfect ratios of fun and easy-going. God, Atsumu wants to kiss him so bad. So, terribly bad. This is going to become a problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can ya kiss me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question leaves Atsumu's mouth before he's even capable of realizing what he had just said.  Still not his fault that Komori is so good at making him feel good. And Komori, finally ecking out some sliver of kindness gives him a quick peck on the mouth. It’s not enough to satisfy the hunger in the pit of Atsumu’s stomach but good enough to let Atsumu’s appetite wax into something fuller. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so polite,” Komori laughs, as if Atsumu being polite is something unexpected, so Atsumu can’t help the pout that makes itself known on his lips. He’s always a gentleman, screw you, Komori Motoya-kun. “So maybe I mislabelled you as a bad boy, when really, you’re a good one,” and the libero undoes his position, strokes Atsumu’s head, runs his fingers through Atsumu’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The best boy,” Komori kisses his temple before pulling a little packet out of his shorts. Tears the foil open with his teeth, and looks at Atsumu, “Is it alright if I ride you?” he beams, “You’ve been such a good boy, so I think a reward is fitting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay! Atsumu’s mouth is completely dry now, he doesn’t trust himself to say anything that </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>make him sound goony as fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So. He keeps it nice and simple. Classy even. With a nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Correct course of action, because immediately, Komori has his hands on Atsumu’s dick, sliding the rubber over his shaft. Gives his cock a few strokes to coax it back to full mast after the brief interlude of neglect. And then Komori positions himself over Atsumu’s length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic rises in the setter, taking hold of the other man’s wrist, an undignified squawk leaving his mouth when he almost screeches, “Motoya-kun?! Don’t ya need preparation!? Don’t hurt ya self for dick?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The audacity of Komori to give him a flat look, as Atsumu is the one who has lost his marbles. Laces his fingers with Atsumu’s and gives the setter’s thighs a soothing pat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for caring about me Atsumu, but I promise it’s not necessary,” to which Atsumu gives him a look, the kind of look that is reserved for sheer stupidity after missing an easy to hit toss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Komori gives the side of his thighs a little slap, offended at the look, before explaining himself, “See, I was gonna apologize for showing up at your doorstep a little late,” the libero rolls his eyes, “But then someone distracted me.” His lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Anyway, because I’m considerate. I got myself all nice and ready for you in the shower. So really,” he bats his eyelashes at Atsumu, “It’d be real helpful if you could ease yourself in me for all my efforts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbelievable. This is. Just. Komori Motoya! Abso-fucking-lutely!! Unbelievable!!! </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It’s only in the morning when Atsumu sees the two new messages that show up on his phone. One arm underneath Komori, the other arm free and struggling to get rid of his alarm, that’s making Komori groan unhappily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the offending noise is banished, he’s greeted by offending threats, sent 15 minutes just before. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Omi-kun: miya did you fuck my counsin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Omi-kun: miya. tell komori i’m murdering him after i kill you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Atsumu doesn’t do any of that! Instead, he kisses the space between Komori’s eyebrows like he wanted to last afternoon. The little furrow between a sleepy Motoya-kun’s brow just as adorable as the rest of his being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But really, he should get Motoya-kun’s number if they’re ever gonna do this again. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>bonk me on <a href="https://twitter.com/rinrintoya"> tweeter! </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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